


Haunted

by Kitexa



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, M/M, Nightmares, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 14:59:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/599094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitexa/pseuds/Kitexa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They aren't sure how it happened. By all known logic it shouldn't have.  Memories don't simply rewrite themselves, fool the mind into believing what didn't happen has.  But it did, and now, they must deal with the  repercussions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Haunted

It’s all well and good in theory. He’s been there, seen that and still hauls the experience around like his own personal world’s weight. Which, in all senses but the literal, it is. He’s the only one Charles knows subject to Frankenstein’s cruel touch. A singular stand out in that sea of agonized inhumanity.

Except he isn’t anymore.

It’s not real—Charles knows it’s not and yet still he growls and grumbles and clings to caffeine because if he slips and falls asleep reality blurs and he isn’t so certain any longer.

There’s nothing protecting him when the lights go out.

 _“Wake me if you have the nightmares.”_ Erik tells him once. it isn’t a voluntary choice. 

He tries, Charles does, to avoid it—push his limits—but the body’s not meant to go on forever and eventually he’ll crash.

 _You’re only human_ , he tells himself.

His subconscious tells him something else. 

Pokes and prods and hisses contrary words: _You’re so much better than them, Charles. So much talent wrapped inside your head._

He’ll shake his head and grit his teeth: _no, he isn’t, he isn’t, he’s no different than the others, stop, get away, let me go—_

Cries fall on deaf ears, (they always do). His mouth stops working and he forgets how to breath, how to do anything because his brain burns and everything— _everything_ —bursts through the floodgates. _Painhungerhopelessness, sickfeardeath—bloody hell, the deaths—“don’t do this please don’t do this stop stop!”_

He wakes in a cold sweat and violent shudder; sharp pull in his belly telling him he’d better move lest he soil the carpet with the remnants of his haunts.

_“Wake me if you have the nightmares.”_

Later, Erik, later.

Charles barely makes it through the bathroom door before his knees give and his stomach lurches and he’s hacking and heaving and—fuck, it _hurts_ —staining the floor.

A week, a lifetime, it matters little; he vomits til he can’t and when he can’t he cries because they’re still there. All of them: agony, horror, of everyone imprisoned—men, woman, children, _all of them_ living, existing, waiting on death’s door…he feels it all. A shaky sob breaches the telepath’s throat. It’s too much. Too much to process, cope with—maybe it happened and maybe it didn’t but it feels like it did and he wants it to _stop!_

The grinding bite of metal yanks him back—terrors washed away in a rushing scarlet stream.

“A-aaah…!”

Glassy gaping blue glosses over the oozing liquid; tracing each splitting thread down his arm and fingers. The right—clenched and holding (what is—that’s a razor, isn’t it. When did he grab the razor?)—drops its culprit in the drying vomit, clamping tight around the wound.

_It’s too deep, it’s not working, dammit, Charles! What did you do?!_

Chest seizes as his stomach goes cold, frenzied fear alight in his eyes. No nononono too fast too much stop stop!!

_“Wake me if you have the nightmares.”_

“…ERIK!!”

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired heavily by plot points in a tumblr role play. Depending on my muse, I might continue to explore this on my own. It was such a fun little role play...really messed with both of them...
> 
> Until then, I have other things to tend to in the mean time.


End file.
